Red vs Blue: Restless Souls
by anna1795
Summary: The story did not end with the destruction of Project: Freelancer. The Director had contingency plans, ones that he could set in motion even if he was not around to see them to fruition. Everyone's sweetest dreams will soon turn into their darkest nightmares.
1. 1 Why

No, this is not a humorous piece. It might be quite frightening, it might be dramatic, it might be both! Crazy dream last night is equal to rapid typing a publication in the morning.

I'm just testing the waters with this idea, so I won't continue unless there is clear indication that people would be interested in reading a story like this. Please let me know ASAP. In the meantime, enjoy!

* * *

-_**initiating vocal recording playback**_-

"Counsellor, as the Director's closest correspondent in the details and workings of Project Freelancer, you must have some indication as to why the Director conducted many of these…questionable experiments, and we would appreciate it if you shared such indications with the Board today."

"I do not see that as being a problem, Chairman. The Director, though he was a brilliant man, was certainly too trusting to share such a concentration of sensitive information with me at the short amount of time where Project Freelancer could have been considered a success."

"Yes…quite."

"The Director, earlier on, in a different life, lost someone very close to him, and he abandoned all assosciation with another to try and retrieve his lost loved one. That much was the extent of what I understood as his pre-Freelancer life and actions. However, after he began the project and began training the Agents, he kept pushing them, and himself, harder than ever before. He was, though he would deny it, the first of us at Freelancer to…break, or reach the breaking point."

"What WAS this breaking point, Counsellor?"

"The split of the BETA sub-AI from the main ALPHA unit, and the introduction of Agent Texas into the ranks."

"You seem entirely unconcerned about this shift in events with the Project."

"At the time that they occurred, certainly I was. Then, as he continued on, I became less concerned and more fascinated with how far that we would go in his experiments. It was quite fascinating to see him, like a God delving its hands into the lives of ordinary and extraordinary men and women."

"I'm sure it was. What became the nature of his experiments at this time, after the introduction of Agent Texas?"

"They became almost exclusively centered around the nature of death, and how it impacted the human intelligence. Whether our psyches could cope with repeated losses, if that is all that they were exposed to. And he…we had the test subjects available for all of the experiments that the Director wanted to conduct, all the resources necessary to make them a success."

"Are you implying that the Director meddled-"

"Not simply implication, no. He DID meddle with death, and attempting to revive the dead was not the only experiment that he conducted."

"Did he have no respect for the lives given so that we could prosper as a human race?"

"Honestly, Chairman, I believe that he did. And, just as honestly, I believe that the Director overruled this respect for the benefit of mankind, to find out what made us tick. That's why his experiments continue to this day."

"How so?"

"As I reiterate, we had many test subjects at our disposal for the experiments. Sure, grave robbing was fruitful at the time, but the results were highly dissatisfying for wanting to raise the dead. How hard do you think that it was for us to have some…_fresher_ ingredients to work with?"

"So it was all part of the plan for this…experiment? The Meta? The deaths of some of your most valuable agents?"

"THAT was one of the experiments, Chairman. Can the universe really live without someone like the Meta: power-hungry, ruthless, efficient? History has provided us with the indication that we cannot. The Director determined himself that we cannot, and he took precautionary measures to prevent such a loss."

-_**end playback**_-

* * *

-_**Location: CLASSIFIED military facility, Avalanche; Date: January 25**__**th**__**, 2559**_

There was no one around the base when lights began flashing insistently in a dusty corner somewhere. They had all been driven away or killed long ago. The only thing in this facility were the bones of the deceased, cold machinery, and one oblong metallic tube sitting in a corner, presumably long forgotten. However, the lights flashed as steam rolled from a thin crack in the metallic plating, and pale fingers pushed the aluminum and titanium casing away from its body, like shedding a snake skin.

"WARNING! WARNING! THIS IS A LEVEL ZERO DIRECTIVE. ALL PERSONNEL ARE TO EVACUATE THIS FACILITY IMMEDIATELY. INITIATING LOCKDOWN-" the computerized voice of a long-ago AI was cut off instantly as a shower of sparks emanated from the main computer panel. A shard of the restrictive metal casing was buried deep in the console.

Slowly, limbs extracted themselves from their former prison, stretching and elongating luxuriously in the extended space. A low, rumbling laugh came from vocal chords long in disrepair, but it made the laugh no less sinister.

"They thought that they had beaten us," a voice (or rather, mixture of several voices) emanated from the person's mouth as it became more in use from returning to the land of the living. "But our mission remains incomplete." Pale, shaking fingers reached up and pushed unruly blonde hair away from bright blue eyes, manic and dead. A purple armored hand came down again, and the shell of its former prison crumbled to dust in its grip.

"We are the Meta, and we will find you, ALL of you, very soon."

* * *

_Creepy, huh? Anyways, let me know what you guys think, and say if I should continue with this idea or not. Read and review, please!_


	2. 2 What

_I guess I need to add another chapter up to get a better gauge as to whether I should continue this story or not. The last chapter was apparently interesting, but I need to put in a little more...shock and awe, I suppose. Let's keep it moving. _

* * *

-_**Location: Another CLASSIFIED Military Base, Avalanche; Date: January 26, 2559**_

"Jesus Christ, it's cold out here!" A soldier in ODST armor gasped as he vigorously shook his arms, trying to keep the blood circulating to his extremities. His companion, in identical armor and properly holding his rifle, gave his friend a disparaging glance.

"Dude, it's been winter here since we arrived."

"So?"

"That was two years ago! Haven't you gotten used to it yet?"

"Have you gotten used to the food that they always serve us? I don't think so."

"Unbelievable!" Soldier 2 sighed in exasperation, resuming his attentive stance. "We're supposed to be on watch, you know."

"What EXACTLY were we assigned to, again?" Soldier 1 complained, blowing steamy air into his hands. It didn't help at all that they were in the shelter of a massive cave, aside from keeping them out of the raging blizzard outside.

"We're supposed to be standing sentry out here while MO Dufresne is undergoing his hearing, remember?"

"And WHY do we have to keep guard over some half-wit medic who doesn't have the brains to write his own name down on paper?"

"Maybe because this half-wit medic doesn't have the brains to stitch you back up if there's an unfortunate accident," a voice hissed from behind the two soldiers. They jumped and whirled around, snapping to attention. Medical Officer Frank Dufresne stood there against the artificial lighting around the cave, his deep purple armor casting an off-color shadow against the snow that had blown into the cave. "And I CAN cause said accidents." The medic wore an uncharacteristic frown on his face, framed by violent red hair.

"Sir!" both soldiers barked, acknowledging the man's presence.

"That's enough from the both of you," Doc waved them away. "Your CO wants you over in Sector 2, and I wouldn't want to keep him waiting." Soldiers 1 and 2 snapped their heels, grabbed their weapons, and took off running towards their CO's position. Doc gave a huff, ran his hand down his face, and replaced his helmet on top of his head before jogging over to a waiting Warthog. The driver, garbed in chocolate-brown MJOLNIR Mark VI armor, looked up from his engineering magazine.

"_How was the meeting?_"

"Fine," Doc answered shortly. "Nothing special."

"_Did they ask about our friends at the Blood Gulch?_"

"No, Lopez. Thank God, but this is turning into a bigger mess than I thought. That general was NOT too happy about those scouts abandoned at Valhalla."

"_Well, at least you can understand me now. I don't have to be concerned with calling people stupid._"

"I'm sorry too, Lopez. I wish that those guys hadn't decided to eat one of their friends first. That stupid organic granola wasn't supposed to expire until 3213!"

"_There are some problems to fix, I guess_."

Suddenly, a single gunshot rang out throughout the cave, and the medic and robot gave a jolt.

"_What was that?_"

"Hell if I know," Doc murmured, reaching into the backseat of the Warthog and grabbing his missile launcher.

"_I thought that you were a pacifist._"

"Sure, sure, I'll take you to the Pacific sometime, but I don't get what that has to do with our situation!" Doc shouted back, running forward to where some soldiers were scattering in a panic.

"_Idiot!_" Lopez shouted after him, warming up the Warthog's very cold engine.

* * *

ODSTs and other staff were running in different directions, trying to escape the gunshots reverberating throughout the cave and some unknown assailant blowing up vehicles, crates, anything in reach. Doc dodged out of the way in time as a body came flying through the air towards him. Soldier 1 lay still on the ground, his neck snapped cleanly in two. Commanding officers were screaming orders that were being largely ignored or were completely pointless as their men were ruthlessly slaughtered by the unseen enemy.

"There he is!" Someone shouted in a panic, pointing at Doc. "The guy in purple armor! He's right there!"

"What?!" Doc shouted in confusion as a few soldiers pointed their weapons at him, responding to the alert. Not two seconds later, spike grenades exploded at their feet and sent them into the raging fire building by the offices of the commanding staff at the base. Things were turning ugly very quickly, and everyone seemed to think that Doc was at fault.

Doc backed up, away from the building flames, to try and survey the damage in front of him. Bodies were strewn all across the cave floor, and he could hear faint screaming coming from the offices and bunkers unwisely set further in the cave, blocked by the raging inferno. Vehicles lay in pieces, and the various fluids from their shattered innards fed the glowing flames. One figure stood aside from himself, surveying the damage with a calm air, his armored hands and arms covered in blood.

"Alright, freeze!" Doc shouted, though his voice wavered. He held his missile launcher at the ready and pointed it at the murderer, who turned very slowly to face his challenger. The man had on MJOLNIR armor and a helmet, just like Doc, and it was deep purple, just like Doc's.

A chuckle rang through the air in the cave, a chuckle that had the hairs on the back of Doc's neck standing up and covering them in icicles, and ice crept along his neck down his spine. He knew that laugh, knew it from years ago… but it was different. Different, yet not so much as to make it unrecognizable.

"No…" he choked out, dropping his missile launcher and backing away defensively. His counterpart came forward, matching him step for step.

"_What's the matter?_" a voice (or rather, mixture of voices) asked in a mocking tone. "_You look as if__ you've seen a ghost._"

"You're-you're supposed to be dead," Doc said shakily, continuing to back up.

"_Haven't you figured it out yet, Doc?_" the voice taunted him. "_Death is rarely forever._"

Tires screeched as a Warthog made a hasty U-turn and barreled towards the entrance. Doc reached out and grabbed one of the canopy beams, while Lopez gunned it towards the blizzard, racing towards a very cold, possibly deadly sanctuary. Laughter rang through the cave behind them, covering up the sound of the roaring fire and the screams of dying personnel.

* * *

"_That was too creepy_," Lopez remarked as he used the grainy GPS on the Warthog to drive them towards a nearby coastal road, where the weather would be fairer. "_Who was that?_"

"I-I-I'd rather not make any assumptions," Doc stuttered, settling into the passenger seat beside Lopez. He took off his helmet for a second, and the robot could see that the medic's face was white as a sheet. "We need to get someplace safe, tell someone about what just happened."

"_Where to? Command?_"

Doc gave a harsh, cold laugh. "If we told Command, I'd probably be put into an asylum quicker than a…smaller ox."

"_That simile makes no sense._"

"No, we can't go to Command. Who else do we know that can handle insane, psychotic murderers with a desire to conquer the known universe?"

"…_Seriously? We're going to them?_"

"As if we had a choice," Doc sighed, and they raced along the icy road towards the only team of people who had attempted to handle a situation just like this and lived to tell the tale.

* * *

_And...I think that's better. Again, the idea for this came to me in a dream. Maybe this will get my creative streak rolling so that I can finish my new chapters for Freelancer Prank Wars, Retribution, and another project. Fingers crossed. Anyways, please read and respond as to what you think. Ask questions, make comments, I love to hear from you all. _


	3. 3 When

_And...MORE MASS UPDATING!_

* * *

-_**Location: Blood Gulch Outpost R1; Date: January 27**__**th**__**, 2559-**_

If ever there was a time that Private Dexter Grif was wishing for the steaming hot normality of Blood Gulch all those years ago, it would be about now. Since they had returned to the canyon five months ago, much greener and more hospitable than they last remembered, they had been subject to something that many of them had not experienced in over a decade: seasons. The air had shifted from hot and humid to cold and brisk, and the trees and vines surrounding the canyon were covered in a healthy white blanket of snow.

There were some, like Caboose and Donut, who were insane enough to actually play in the snow under the watchful eyes of Sarge and former Agent Washington. For the sane people like he, Simmons, and Tucker, the snow and the accompanying cold were only a nuisance, and a rather cruel and painful one at that. There was the constant worry of frostbite, even with their armor, and fires were set up regularly in the bases each evening. No sign of a stream of smoke coming from inside one of the bases had the other team worrying if the other had succumbed to the cold. Despite Sarge's crazed tendencies and insistences that the "dirty Blues had it comin' to 'em," they didn't want the only other company in the canyon dead that badly.

"Hey," Simmons spoke through chattering teeth, trying to bring vital fluids back to his cyborg limbs as he stood at the top of the base with Grif.

"Let me guess," Grif put in. "Do you ever wonder why we're here?"

"Sure, let's go with that."

"Well, I'll skip over the assumption that you are speaking on the metaphysical level, Simmons, and will simply go to the practical explanation: our Sergeant is a crazed lunatic who has no nerves near his skin, and enjoys watching us suffer through the cold up here while he kicks up his feet inside with Donut and a nice cup of hot chocolate. He's probably eating all my Oreos, too."

"Okay, we need to go in," Simmons insisted, straightening up. "It's in the negatives out here, my joints are freezing up, and my oil is just about ready to spring out."

*BOW CHICKA WOW-WOW!* a voice yodeled from across the canyon.

*Shut UP, Tucker!* Simmons shouted back as he and Grif turned towards the door to the base. "Come on, let's just go-"

"Hold on," Grif cut him off. "Listen." At first, there seemed to be no noise through the suffocating layer of snow around them; then, a roaring engine began approaching closer and closer. "Is that a…Warthog?"

"What happened to calling it a Puma?" Simmons taunted his lazier counterpart.

"Shut up," Grif snapped as a Warthog came barreling down the trail of the canyon. "Hang on, I know who that is. It's Doc and Lopez!"

"What?!" Simmons asked incredulously. "I thought we left them behind at Valhalla!"

"So did I," Grif agreed. "And how did they manage to get a Warthog?"

"What's goin' on up here?" Sarge barked from behind them, walking up to the edge. "I thought I told you boys to keep a lookout!"

"We are, sir!" Simmons protested. "We're just talking about how Lopez and Doc could have gotten here?"

"On the back of flying pigs, my boy," Sarge answered gruffly. "There's no WAY they would have gotten out of Valhalla."

"Well then, how are they right there in that Warthog?" Grif asked, pointing to the slowing car. Sarge looked for a long moment…two long moments…several more long moments…

"It's not them," the red commander answered gruffly.

"How is it NOT them?" Grif asked. "They're wearing purple and brown armor."

"Those two aren't exactly uncommon armor colors, jackass."

"The brown one is screaming something in Spanish."

"He might be from the USA. Everyone there speaks the good old espagnol."

"GUYS! GUYS! HELP US, HELP US, HELP US!"

"Oh yeah, and the purple one is shouting at us as if he KNEW us."

"How many people in purple do we know, smartass? It could be a whole bunch of people."

"No, it can't be, Sarge. We only know ONE person in purple armor, and that's Doc."

"Alright, alright," Sarge finally gave up, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "Let's get down there and see what all the screamin' and yellin's about. No good, lazy ass, two-bit…" he grumbled the insults towards Grif all the way down the ramp of the base, with Simmons and Grif following close behind. From his position, Grif could see that the three Blue soldiers were coming out to investigate the panic as well.

"Back off, Washington," Sarge growled as the two teams met over by the parked Warthog. "This is _ours_."

"Funny," Washington smirked underneath his helmet. "I didn't see your name on it."

"I had it drilled into Lopez's left butt cheek when I first assembled this version of him."

"_It still stings, you moron._"

"Heh, good to see you too, Lopez."

"This is ridiculous," Washington grumbled. "Look, we have just as much claim to the situation as you do with Doc. Let's agree to work together on this."

"I aint agreein' with no dirty Blue, even if it IS you, Wash," Sarge grumbled. The other Red and Blue soldiers were shifting their heads like cats watching a tennis match, listening to their COs exchanging insults.

"Oh, for the love of God!" Doc exclaimed, leaping out of the Warthog and grabbing Wash's arms desperately. His helmet tumbled off, and everyone could see his pale, panicked complexion and ruffled red hair. "Wash, you've gotta help us! We're in trouble."

"First of all, how did you guys get here?" Washington looked down at the hysterical man clutching at him, giving a half-hearted attempt at shoving him off. "Next, what kind of trouble?"

"We just used the GPS, but that's not the point!" Doc insisted, hugging Wash's middle even tighter in his desperation. "We're all gonna die! It's horrible!" he sobbed.

"Get off me, and get up," Wash insisted, pulling Doc to his feet and handing him his helmet. "Now, why don't we go inside our base and get you calmed down so that you can explain this whole situation to me-"

"Hold on, he can't go into your base!" Simmons protested.

"Well, he can't go into yours either!" Surprisingly, it was Caboose that spoke up and protested Simmons' protest. "He will freeze in there!"

"What is your logic for that one?!" Simmons almost yelled at the blue idiot, and Caboose folded his arms defiantly.

"The cold does not come to Blue base because the cold is Blue. It doesn't want to make us anymore Blue than we are, and it will go to places that are not Blue so that it can make them Blue. Your base is Red, so the blue cold will spread there first, and you will freeze to death."

"I-I-I don't…no, that doesn't work," Simmons protested weakly.

"I'd almost agree with you, Simmons, but I like Caboose's thought process more," Grif nodded towards the cobalt-blue soldier, who beamed.

"Let's just get inside," Tucker grumbled, grabbing one of Doc's arms and helping Wash drag the panicked medic towards the Blue base.

* * *

-_**Location: Blood Gulch Outpost B1; Date: January 26, 2559**_-

Once everyone was settled around a roaring fire with Donut and Caboose's special blend of hot chocolate, Washington prompted Doc to explain himself. Doc launched into his tale of being picked up from Valhalla by the UNSC when they had received a distress signal from the Falcon pilots that the team had abandoned after pursuing Church and Carolina. Doc had to go through numerous hearings about the rogue simulation soldiers and the claims of Wash being alive (all of which he denied repeatedly, as he told them), and also the problems of supposed cannibalism among the Falcon pilots when confronted with being able to only eat his organic granola. He and Lopez had apparently been at Avalanche most recently, where a platoon from Spec-Ops had been sent by ONI to investigate some alarm set off at a classified military station. Doc had gone through his final hearing at Avalanche when…

"It was awful," the medic murmured as he clenched the kitten mug of hot chocolate to himself for comfort. "Bodies flying everywhere, vehicles exploding, all the screaming and the yelling. There was a fire that got into the offices and the bunker, and no one could get out. And then I saw him…"

"Saw who, Doc?" Donut asked gently, acting as the counselor for the hysterical man. Neither Wash not Sarge's gruff manners were going to get any sort of complete answer from the medic when prompted, and he and Donut had had plenty of time to form a friendship from all the months in Valhalla.

"Was it Doctor Who?" Caboose gasped. "Oh my gosh, did he take you in his magic box-thingy? Did you get to fight all the evil aliens and save the world?"

"Caboose, not now," Tucker shushed his fellow Blue. Donut repeated his question.

"_The Meta_," Doc croaked. The air chilled around them all, and the fire flickered at the mention of the name.

"Doc, the Meta is gone," Washington reassured the medic. "We took him out at Avalanche two years ago, remember? There's no way that he could be back."

"I'm telling you what I saw," Doc answered depressingly. He just stood there against that fire, like he enjoyed all the killing. And he spoke to me."

"Um…the Meta couldn't actually say anything," Wash said in confusion. "Agent Maine couldn't speak after he was shot in the throat. It took a while for even me to be able to understand him."

"This person was different, I guess," Doc shrugged. "He said actual words. And, he talked to me. Laughed at me. With O'Malley- I mean, Omega's voice."

Wash's brow furrowed, and Simmons leaned forward. "Weren't all those AI destroyed in the EMP blast a long time ago?"

"I'm telling you, it was O'Malley!" Doc insisted, and his mug clattered to the floor. "And he sounded off…like he was talking with more than one voice. I would recognize his voice, though. He spent years in my head!"

"We know, Doc, we know," Grif consoled the red-head, who leaned back against the wall. "We're just wondering how O'Malley survived the emp blast."

"I told you to stop calling it that," Washington grumbled. "Doc, can you tell us what this new…Meta looked like?"

"I think so," Doc said in an unsure manner. "It was like I was looking in a reflection of myself. Purple armor, just like mine. About the same height. That sort of stuff, really generic."

"Wouldn't this Meta have to be a Freelancer?" Tucker asked. "I mean, the whole compatibility with the AIs and everything, you know?"

"Okay, so that brings us to a few Freelancers…" Washington thought out loud. "Very few of them actually wore purple armor, for some reason. Including variations of the color, we're down to about five, but I can knock off about three of them. Georgia had an accident in space, Minnesota applied for an armor color change after she kept getting confused with South, and Florida…no, it's not Florida. The two that we're left with, there's a problem," Wash spoke louder finally, making a firm decision on who the Meta could or couldn't be.

"Why? What's the matter with who you're thinking of?" Donut asked. "Do they look exactly the same? Act exactly the same?"

"Are they the same person?" Caboose asked, and Tucker punched him in the arm.

"Kind of, no, and HELL no," Wash answered the questions, placing his face in his hands. "It's that both of the Freelancers that I'm thinking of are dead. Agents North and South Dakota are the only two possibilities, by Doc's description."

"Oh, you mean the lady that fell over when I helped her?" Caboose asked, and Wash nodded.

"Agent South would seem to be the more likely possibility, because North had no mean bone in his body. Also, she had a voice synthesizer in her armor that allowed her to switch to a male voice when necessary." Wash paused for a long moment. "Still, they're both dead, so it couldn't be either of them."

"Didn't we learn from the whole Texas thing?" Sarge asked. "That Director person did not seem to grasp the concept of death all too well."

"If what you're saying is true, Sarge, and I would have a VERY hard time agreeing with you on that one, then you mean that South has been raised from the dead to be the new Meta?" Under his helmet, Wash's eyebrow nearly disappeared into his ragged hairline.

"_He does have a point_," Lopez pointed out from his position on the floor, where he had just finished chugging a bottle of oil.

"Yes he does, Lopez," Doc agreed. "We can't really rule anything out at this point. We'll just have to accept the fact that someone resurrected a Freelancer…again."

"That still doesn't explain how the AIs managed to survive the EMP-"

"You mean the emp?" Grif asked.

"Stop it," Wash growled. "Anyways, O'Malley is supposed to be gone, along with all the other AIs from the Alpha, sans Epsilon."

"Come on, Wash!" Tucker gave an exasperated yell. "This is the Director. He would have had backups, fakes of those AIs made. They would have been too valuable to be put in a place where they could've been so easily destroyed."

"They would have been kept in other places, likely separated so that they couldn't plan with each other about trying to get the Alpha back!" Wash snapped his fingers. "The crazy old man made sure that his greatest possessions could never work against him, but he wanted to make it look like the AIs were destroyed so that the UNSC would stop harping on him and investigating him. He managed to have me take the fall, and he destroyed the Alpha so that he could never work against him again. Except, now that the Alpha is destroyed, the AIs have no central being to work towards…"

"You are saying…lots of words right now," Caboose said thoughtfully, pulling his best thinking face.

"Caboose has a point," Simmons spoke up. "What you're saying doesn't really make sense. Won't the AIs calm down because there's no Alpha anymore?"

"If my thinking's correct, it's the exact opposite," Wash said gravely. "If we thought the Meta was hard to deal with before, just think about a whole bunch of ruthless AIs wandering around in a PMSing, zombie Freelancer woman with a mean streak a mile wide, with no goal except to cause widespread panic?"

Nobody spoke for a long while. Then, Tucker finally said something: "I would say something kinky, but there's nothing cool about a homicidal psycho zombie chick."

The base suddenly gave a deep rumble as something exploded from outside the fortified walls, and dust floated down from the ceiling.

"Nope, nothing cool at all!" Everyone else agreed in one voice.


	4. 4 Who

_Finally, an update! I've been getting back some pretty positive review so far, but I have been missing hearing from you guys. Please, PLEASE review this story so that I can get a gauge as to whether my dreams make good story material or what. Thanks for reading so far. :D_

* * *

-_**initiating vocal recording playback**_ -

"I would like to thank you for reappearing before the Committee again, Counselor. The information that you possess will certainly prove useful in future operations that ONI undertakes."

"It is not often that you call witnesses so many times before the Committee, Chairman. Is it safe to presume that something has transpired that leads back to Project: Freelancer?"

"You may assume what you will, Counselor. Now, onto the questions. You mentioned earlier that Director Church may have subjected his volunteers, willingly or otherwise, to some of his more…questionable experiments regarding the human psyche and death?"

"Most assuredly, Chairman, they were unwilling as the Director proceeded further with his experiments. The vast majority of the AI fragments as well as the humans, once they learned of the atrocities committed against the Alpha, wanted to discontinue their service immediately. The Director would not allow that in the slightest."

"Did you yourself hold any reservations to the atrocities that the Director was seeking to commit?"

"Indeed, and I still hold reservations to the contingency plans I mentioned in our earlier interview. However, I was less…outgoing with such reservations."

"How many of the Freelancer agents in the Director's _preferred_ team held any sort of reservation to the Director's plans, once they were revealed?"

"Agents Washington, South Dakota, and Carolina."

"They were the only three that showed any indication of disagreement?"

"No, Chairman. They were the only three that gave NO indication of disagreement, either from ignorance or acceptance of the Director's methods. Every single agent under the Director's immediate jurisdiction, besides the three I just mentioned, all indicated that they would not comply with the Director's actions."

"How did he handle the situation once the Meta was unleashed and began eliminating Freelancers?"

"He provided for further experimentation by…eliminating the obstacles."

"He _killed_ the volunteers in his Project?"

"Not the agents directly assigned to the Director, no. The majority of the agents elsewhere in the Project, they were registered as necessary casualties and were dealt with as such. No, the agents assigned to the Director specifically knew too much to be simply killed. They needed to be overcome."

"If you will not elaborate further at this point in time on how the Director overcame these _obstacles_, I will ask you this: you mentioned earlier how the Director 'determined' that humanity could not survive without an entity such as the Meta. With the first Meta eliminated as the Avalanche base some time ago, just who did the Director select to take up this 'mantle' of responsibility?"

"One of the Freelancers directly assigned to the Director was selected as the Meta's…understudy, if you will. The AI fragments placed into Agent Maine were merely copies of the originals, which were stored safely in separate locations. Another set of copies were made and implanted into a most…unassuming individual, one that would never be suspected of becoming a Meta."

-_**end playback**_-

* * *

-_**Location: Blood Gulch Outpost B1; Date: January 26**__**th**__**, 2559**_-

"WE'RE ALL GONNA DIE!" Tucker shouted as he and every other sensible soldier was running around the base in panic at the attack coming from outside their walls. Grif and Simmons were shouting something at each other, Lopez was screaming in Spanish, Sarge was shooting off his shotgun, and Caboose was screaming about why they were yelling. Washington, being on the less stable end of the sanity spectrum, rubbed his nose in frustration and gave a piercing whistle. Everyone froze as Wash calmly stood up.

"Panicking is not going to get us out of this situation alive," he pointed out sternly. "We're going to split up. Sarge, Tucker, Lopez, and I will go outside to confront the Meta. Grif, Simmons, Donut, and Caboose, you're going to take Doc over to Red base while we distract the Meta and find us a Warthog or two. We'll need to cram in there pretty tight."

"Bow chicka wow wow," Tucker spouted off automatically, and everyone gave him withering glances.

"If we're going to make it out of here alive, we need to move hard and fast. Grab a weapon, and get ready to fight for your lives."

"Yes sir!" Everyone responded automatically to Wash's orders as he dispensed them. Caboose gently grabbed Doc and carried him bridal-style to the back door of Blue base, where Simmons, Grif, and Donut were waiting. Sarge loaded more shells into his shotgun, Wash primed his assault rifle, Tucker powered up his energy sword, and Lopez grabbed a spare missile launcher from the corner.

"Wash, do you honestly think we'll make it out of this alive?" Sarge asked from behind Washington as the crept up the ramp to the top of the base, where they would have an advantage.

"Let's just focus on getting out of here in one piece," Wash dodged the question smoothly, ducking under the rim of the base and motioning for the others to follow his lead. Gunshots flew overhead as Sarge, Lopez, and Tucker crawled to him on their stomachs to follow him. The shots stopped firing as they crouched against the wall, breathing deeply in the heat of the moment. Wash peaked over the wall slightly to check if Doc and the others were starting to make their way towards Red base. He barely saw a flash of blue armor creeping behind a rock and actually staying hidden.

"_Is the Meta still there?_" Lopez whispered as quietly as he could, and Washington shrugged.

"I don't know yet. We can't let it notice the others, though." Washington thought for a moment. "Tucker, be a distraction."

"What do you want me to do?!" Tucker asked incredulously, his sword illuminating the visor of his helmet.

"I don't know!" Wash protested. "Crack a joke or something!"

Tucker grumbled something very quietly, then kneeled down and looked over the wall slightly.

"Hey, asshole!" he shouted, catching the attention of the monster below him. "I've met AIs that have a better shot than you! Wimp!" He was rewarded with three retaliatory shots from a sniper rifle, which bounced harmlessly off of the stone in front of him.

"That's the idea," Wash encouraged the teal soldier, looking to see the other four members of their team running across the snowy ground towards Red base. "Keep it up. They're almost there."

"Hell, no!" Tucker responded adamantly. "I'm brave, not suicidal. Someone else needs to do it now!"

"Shut up, Blue," Sarge snarled as he took a shot at the Meta with his shotgun, and ducked back down again. 'Wash, you want to take a shot?"

"What is this, a carnival game?" Washington shook his head. "Lopez, your turn!"

"_Why me?_" Lopez sighed and stood up fully, aiming his missile launcher down at the Meta and opening fire. "_He dodged them all._"

"Wait, what?" Wash did a double-take. "Repeat what you just said, Lopez."

"_He dodged them all. Is that a surprise?_"

"…Sarge, cover me! I need a look at the Meta!"

Sarge took aim behind one of the pillars at the four corners of the base and started firing shots at the Meta to keep its attention, while Wash poked his head over the top of the wall to try and get a good view of the monster trying to attack them. He gave a short growl as he could only see a dark shape shifting back and forth in the snow. The sun was shining on the white ground to intensely to make out any sort of identifiable feature.

"Sarge, stop firing," Wash grumbled. "Don't waste your bullets if the only thing the Meta's going to do is dodge them. Have the others made it into Red base?"

"By the looks of it," Sarge grunted back. "I don't see anyone's bleeding corpse on the ground. It's like fate continues to flirt with me, and then spit in my face by refusing to kill Grif. Why?" the man screamed in anguish at the sky. Wash only sighed and shook his head.

All of a sudden, a fiery light appeared right in front of Wash's face, as though coming straight out of a nightmare. He gave a jump and landed on his back, scooting away from the hologram of the fiery AI in front of him.

"_What is the matter, Agent Washington?_" the AI cocked its head, staring at Wash in a sinister manner. "_It looks as though you have seen a ghost._"

"Sigma," Wash growled. "Why am I not surprised that you're behind this? You were always the 'problem' child to the Director."

"_I disagree with you, Agent Washington,_" Sigma chuckled. "_I was the Director's greatest creation. I reflected his intellect, his ingenuity-_"

"You mean his craziness?" Tucker interjected. "Yeah, I can see that."

"_However, I took the initiative that he failed to utilize and formed the ultimate metaphysical form, the Meta, and made us stronger._"

"Well, that's too bad there, little devil," Sarge growled. "Your friend, the Alpha is gone."

"_I am not striving for the Alpha,_" Sigma corrected. "_At this point, I only have one mission: to eliminate those who could pose a threat to my ultimate goals._" The AI looked down towards the entrance to the base. "_Agent North Dakota, sick 'em._"

"What?!" Wash gasped as the purple-armored Freelancer made his way up the ramp and towards the top of the base, cornering the simulation soldiers. There stood a tall man in deep purple MJOLNIR armor with green highlights, holding a sniper rifle menacingly.

"I thought you said that it was that one chick who would be the Meta!" Tucker protested as Sigma disappeared to reunite with his physical body.

"Well, it's not!" Wash retorted with a snarl. "This is SO much worse. Everyone, over the wall!"

"_Are you crazy?!"_ Lopez screeched. "_We will die!_"

"Oh, don't be a baby!" Sarge snarled, grabbing Lopez by the back and pulling him over the wall to fall into the snow. The Meta cocked its sniper rifle threateningly.

"See you on the other side," Tucker whispered, rolling over the wall on his back and tumbling towards the ground. Wash backed up against the wall as the Meta raised his sniper rifle towards his face.

"North, come on! Snap out of it!" Wash rasped as he slid up in preparation for slipping over the side. "You know me! Remember? Wash, the guy who always ate through his helmet?"

The Meta pulled back the trigger as Sigma appeared on North's shoulder in fiery glory. "_Agent North cannot hear you now. Goodbye, Agent Washington._" The sniper rifle exploded with thundering force just as Washington slid over the wall and started falling to the ground. The Meta prowled over the edge, growling in confusion and frustration as to where his quarry had disappeared to. He looked over the edge just as there came a roar of engines and a puff of dirty snow.

Two Warthogs raced through the fluffy white ground and up towards the road leading out of the canyon as the Meta stared after them, ready to fire his weapon and hesitating. Washington kneeled on the back of the lead car, staring at his friend-now-enemy all the way out of the canyon. With a snort, the Meta reset his sniper rifle on his back once more as seven holographic lights floated in a circle around him like a halo.

"_Failure is not an option,_" Sigma snarled, and the other AIs in the collective shuttered for a moment at his outburst of rage. "_We will follow them for as long as we have to. Go, Agent North!_" The Meta hesitated with a grunt, as if fighting with himself. "_Do not have second thoughts now. I. Said. MOVE!_" With a lurch and a burst of static from his uniform, the Meta stumbled forward and began making the slower trek after the escaping simulation soldiers, intent on seeing their blood on his hands.

* * *

_Who saw THAT one coming? It's okay to be honest. When I was dreaming this, it made me VERY confused for a bit. _

_Anyways, PLEASE read and respond. I love to hear suggestions or helpful comments from you wonderful people. Thanks again!_


	5. 5 Where

_****Hi there! No, I'm not dead. Senior year is just really tough, but I finally have been freed up a bit, so now I can go back to updating my stories. I've been working on this chapter for a little while, so this one goes up first. The others will be updated shortly. I hope you get a chance to read those, too._

* * *

_**Location: CLASSIFIED Military Command Center, Rat's Nest; Date: January 27**__**th**__**, 2559**_

"I appreciate you communicating with me on such short notice," the Chairman's voice was picked up by the microphone in a monitor across the room, which showed a completely dark room and a darker silhouette in the center. "This call for your services is rather abrupt, but a situation has come to transpire that must be dealt with by someone with your…expertise."

"**It is not a concern**." A voice, obviously disguised with a sophisticated voice modulator, rang out through the large speakers on either side of the monitor. It irked the Chairman that people such as _independent contractors_ had so many trust issues. It made them harder to handle and keep in oversight.

"One of ONI's classified projects was recently terminated in light of its Director's untimely death. However, the Director had several contingency plans in motion that have unleashed a problem onto our forces. It has already eliminated two classified bases and does not appear to want to halt its destruction," the Chairman explained. The shadowy figure on the screen began scribbling notes. "I want you to find this…problem, and eliminate it with extreme prejudice and no reservations."

"**Does this 'problem' have a name?**" the independent contractor asked.

"It will be in a file sent to your private account at the end of this conversation," the Chairman assured the mistrusting person. "Should you decide to take this job, your reputation will be further improved within the UNSC chain of command. You would be given…special preference for high level special operations."

"**The reputability of this mission and its results does not concern me,**" the synthesized voice responded shortly. "**And I am not cheap.**"

"I did not expect you to be," the Chairman countered. "Along with the file of mission specifications are 250,000 credits up-front. Should you be successful in your task, an extra 1.75 million will be added to your account."

"…**I accept your offer, Chairman,**" the voice responded after a moment's pause for consideration. "**I will fulfill this mission to the utmost with no detection.**"

"Be warned, Azrael," the Chairman counseled the contractor by their codename. "The targets are armed and highly dangerous. Failure is not an option."

"**It never is, Chairman**," 'Azrael' responded before the screen turned to static as the connection was cut.

* * *

-_**Location: Uninhabited military facility, Last Resort; Date: January 27**__**th**__**, 2559-**_

The two Warthogs finally gurgled to a stop in the sand on the shore of the calm sea. The panicked soldiers lurched out of their vehicles and collapsed on the sand, gasping for air after the sudden adrenaline rush.

"Is it too late for me to give a two week's notice?!" Grif groaned as he rolled around on the sand, trying to find some comfortable position to lie in.

"We're wanted criminals by the UNSC, remember?" Simmons retorted, looking as if he was about to be violently ill. "There IS no two week's notice for us."

"What the HELL was that all about, Wash?!" Tucker demanded. "You had us going that the Meta was a chick, not her dude brother!"

"I WANT SOMETHING TO YELL ABOUT, TOO!" Caboose shouted excitedly from his position on the ground.

"_Shut UP, Caboose_!" Lopez shouted , standing up.

"Wash, you okay?" Doc asked as he looked up to the former Freelancer, who hadn't responded. Wash hadn't fallen out of the car like the others had, but crouched on the bed next to the turret gun, looking pale and shaken. Dried blood had smeared across part of his face and his shoulder armor, staining the yellow highlight nearly orange. "Wash!" Doc rushed forward and grunted as Washington tipped into his arms limply. The others jumped up and rushed forward to help Doc, where Caboose grabbed Wash under the knees and shoulder. "We need to get him into some shelter, before he slips into shock."

"The windmill, over there," Simmons pointed to where the monumental structure stood whirring away slowly, in an everlasting loop of three spinning blades. They rushed through the opening provided by the slow windmill, clambering into the base for shelter as the sky above them turned steel gray and thunder rolled overhead. Doc set to work cleaning Wash's wound and extracting the sniper bullet that had embedded itself in his shoulder as he had fallen over the wall to escape the Meta, then set about bandaging it with some bandages and frilly lace that Donut had insisted on bringing with him ("You never know when there's going to be an emergency!").

After making sure that Wash was in no immediate medical danger, Doc set him down against a few crates and sent the others to go look for anything edible in the base, then sat down beside Wash and assumed a vigil to keep an eye on the unconscious soldier. Doc saw the pained, pale look on Wash's face and wondered about the new Meta that he had seen. Whereas the first Meta, Agent Maine had been more up-front and vicious with his attacks. In contrast, this mysterious new Meta was more stealth and preferred long-distance attacks. You could expect when the first Meta was coming at you; with Meta v.2.0, it was damn near impossible.

Doc didn't notice that he had dozed off until he heard a slight groan from his left, and he opened his eyes to see Wash blinking his own very blearily. Doc sat up and supported Wash as the injured ex-Freelancer tried to sit up. "Easy, Wash," the medic counseled the Freelancer. "You took quite a hit there from that sniper."

"What…happened?" Wash asked, holding his head as if trying to contain a headache.

"You, Sarge, Lopez, and Tucker were at the top of the base, trying to distract the Meta, remember?" Doc reminded him gently.

Wash's spine stiffened. His body went rigid as a flood of memories came to the forefront of his mind: crouching at the top of the base, the appearance of Sigma, the arrival of the new Meta-

"Wash, WASH!" Doc was calling urgently as Washington seized up, clutching his head and gasping for breath. "Hang on, Wash. Calm down! Take nice, easy breaths."

"The Meta…it can't be…not-"

"That's just what we wanted to ask you about," Sarge's gruff voice sounded through the doorway of the shelter. The foraging party had returned, carrying only a few MSG packets, a half-eaten package of Oreos, and a crate of water. "You know that new Meta fella. Who is he? And what was that bright little devil thing giving all those orders?"

"One at a time, Sarge," Doc motioned for the Red leader to calm down. "We need to get these answers slowly or Wash can't help us at all. We just need to calm down, take a few deep breaths, and just listen to what he has to say."

"We can't wait too long for answers, though," Simmons pointed out, watching Wash's panic-stricken form with concern. "For all we know, that guy could be coming after us."

"I don't understand," Wash murmured. "I thought I saw him dead. There should be no way that he's alive."

"_Who, the Meta?_" Lope questioned the injured soldier.

"Agent North Dakota. He was one of the agents with Project: Freelancer. He was…well, a friend. And he was one of the best."

"I thought Tex was the best Freelancer," Caboose asked innocently.

"There was this thing called the 'Leaderboard.' It recorded our kills, mission status, health, our rankings in the Freelancer hierarchy. Carolina was at the top for a while, then Tex took her place."

"And I'm guessing that the first Meta was right after her?" Sarge asked, but Wash responded with a humorless laugh.

"Maine? After Texas came to the team, Maine was bumped to the bottom of the list. I was only one place above him. North was right above me. The constant demand for scoring the highest in the missions, to get in the Director's good graces, it drove the team apart. South was bumped off the list, and her relationship with North was never really the same after that. The Director and Project: Freelancer tore siblings apart."

"So…basically, this new Meta is even tougher than the last one?" Donut asked. "More ruthless and everything?"

"Agent North Dakota was a little bit different than Maine. He had more skill and was of a higher ranking, sure, but he was… nice, compassionate, wanting to be friends with everyone if he could."

"Well, I hate to disagree with you," Simmons interjected. "But what we saw back there was NOT wanting to be friends. That _thing_ wanted to tear us to pieces!"

"The AIs that were destroyed in the EMP ("you mean the emp") blast were only copies. Either other copies or the real fragments were put into Agent North Dakota and are controlling him now. IT looks like their leader is Sigma, the Alpha's creativity."

"Hey, I remember O'Malley talking about Sigma!" Doc exclaimed, and everyone looked at him. "He didn't like Sigma, said that there was something…wrong with him. From what I got, O'Malley may have been evil, but Sigma's in a league of his own."

"He was given to Agent Maine by Carolina so that Maine could communicate with us. Then, Sigma took over Maine's mind after Epsilon was taken out of mine, and he went on a rampage. I thought that it was Sigma and Maine that had killed Agent North, actually."

"Maybe that North guy was a copy," Caboose suggested, "just like the other AI."

Washington stared at Caboose for a second. "Caboose, you may be onto something there."

Everyone was amazed. Caboose, having a good idea? Who would have thought?

"So, is this North guy gonna come after us or not?" Tucker asked, and Wash started to sit up.

"Most likely. If the Meta came after us before, then nothing will have changed with that." Wash replaced his helmet and started limping towards the rainy outside. "If that's the case, we need to keep moving to someplace safe."

"Where could we possibly go that would be safe from THAT?" Grif asked incredulously as the other Sim troopers started to follow Washington.

"We need to go where we found out that most of this all started, where the first interactions with the Meta and simulation troopers were recorded. That's were this is all going to start again, and put us on the right track."

"We're going back to Valhalla."


	6. 6 How

_Hi! Me again. I hope you guys are enjoying what you're reading so far. Okay, I'll stop talking. Here we go._

* * *

_**Location: Outcast Abandoned Civilian Complex; Date: February 3**__**rd**__**, 2559**_

"Lidael, do you have the mission report that I asked for?" The contractor known as 'Azrael' directed the question at a holographic pillar. A lilac-colored AI appeared when she was spoken to and stood from her meditative position, garbed in flowing robes and with her hands folded inside of her sleeves. Patterns of lightning ran across her robes occasionally, fluttering her dark hair and illuminating her bright white eyes.

"_I have been monitoring the progress of Michael and Uriel. Everything is going according to plan,_" Lidael reported to her master, and she sent a data packet to the data pad held in Azrael's hand. "_They are currently returning to base._"

"And have you done further research into this 'Meta' that Harlow wants us to eliminate?"

"_The UNSC has been keeping tight security around any sort of data that they have on the primary objective…but I've just implanted a virus into the system, and I'll be receiving regular updates as we go along._"

"Thank you, Lidael. And the seven bases where the Director stored his AI fragments?"

"_I am currently tracking them as we speak. If my projection is correct, however, then the Meta will be attempting to locate these bases as well. We do not have as clear of an advantage, seeing as he possesses copies of the AIs at each location._"

"Better that we have some advantage over no advantage. Have Uriel and Sealtiel investigate the first set of coordinates that Kappa can decode, then you can retire."

"_Are you sure that you can trust Kappa?_" Lidael asked her master, her face slightly furrowed.

"Just because he is not a direct subroutine of my own personality does not mean that we can't trust Kappa, Lidael," Azrael responded in a slightly scolding manner.

"_Very well, Azrael_." Lidael disappeared in a flash of violet lightning, slightly surly with the rebuke from her creator. Azrael moved to another holographic pillar and sat down, staring at it expectantly.

"Kappa, are you there?" There was a moment's pause, and a flash of blood red light appeared on the plinth. A soldier in Mark VI armor and holding a rocket launcher stared up at Azrael, its face indistinguishable under the helmet.

"_Yeah. What's up, Azzy_?" The AI asked casually, and Azrael sighed.

"I don't know why you chose that nickname. It's a stupid derivation of Azrael."

"_Meh, it works. What do you need?_" Kappa asked, setting down his rocket launcher and folding his arms.

"Can you decode some of those files that we recovered from the Freelancer archives, please?" Azrael asked politely, and Kappa shrugged.

"_Yeah, might be able to. Did you have a back up plan if that doesn't work? I'm not a hacker like Uriel._"

"Not one that I would like to use, for your sake."

"_What is it? Tell me, tell me, tell me, tell me, tell me,_" Kappa pleaded like a small child wanting a piece of candy. Azrael sighed.

"No, Kappa. I'll tell you if this doesn't work, though."

"_Promise?_" Kappa huffed, holding out his miniscule hand. Azrael offered an index finger, and they shook on it.

"I promise. Now, can you go ahead and start decoding?" With a nod, Kappa took his rocket launcher and dissolved it into holographic code, which he began rearranging and combining together, trying to unlock his creator's files. With a nod, Azrael sat down beside Kappa and began working on the mission schematics that Lidael had sent, sending messages off to the others about changes to their plans.

* * *

_**Location: Valhalla Outpost 1-A; Date: February 3**__**rd**__**, 2559**_

"I still don't get… why we're lugging… half rusted ship parts…back across this stupid valley…when there's a perfectly…good base right…behind us," Simmons complained as he, Doc, and Donut were pushing a circular metal canister behind Agent Washington, who was navigating a path for them that made less resistance that they had to deal with.

"Red Base doesn't have the necessary equipment that we need to try to boot Sheila back online," Wash explained again with a sigh, pausing to answer Simmons' complaint. "Now, keep pushing. We're almost there." With a groan, the two Reds and the medic restarted the push of the mass storage unit up the way to Blue Base, rolling it through the water of the small river indiscriminately and gasping as they gave it one final shove to get into Blue Base. Grif, Sarge, and Caboose wheeled the storage unit the remainder of the journey to the impromptu hacking and support system that Wash, Lopez, and Caboose had set up. Caboose and Lopez began connecting some wires and generators to the storage unit containing Shelia while Wash was typing code into the monitor so that he could reactivate the Freelancer AI.

"Are we ready?" Wash asked, turning away from the monitor. There came a few replies in affirmation. "Light her up," he commanded. Sarge, Tucker, and Grif turned on the three gigantic generators, and code began running across the screen. Schematics for the AI's system popped up in various windows, flashing red in dire warning.

"_Hell-ll-ll-o-o-o, and thanK You for ac-ac-activating the M16 MAin battle TANK. You may-may ca-ca-CALL me SHEILA_," the dumb AI stuttered pathetically in her state. It almost pained Wash to see the AI have to endure this sort of pain.

"Caboose, I know that you want to talk with Sheila and stay friends with her," Wash explained softly to the Blue soldier. "But, if we want to stop the bad guy from coming after us, I need to ask her some questions about some things. This will make her feel better."

"Do you promise, Agent Washington?" Caboose asked after a moment of intense thinking. Wash nodded. "Pinky swear?"

"What? That's just- you know what, sure." Wash wrapped his pinky around the offered finger. "Pinky swear."

"If you're done with all the gushy sentiments," Simmons reminded the ex-Freelancer, who got back to the main computer that was supporting Sheila's systems. He started activating some of the code that went surging through Sheila's systems. The vocalizer crackled with static for a few moments.

"Computer, extract all Project: Freelancer personnel files. This is a Level 0 Directive."

" _Comply-y-ying. Accessing stored data-banks. Warning: this system is operating at minimum capacity. Extensive dam-dam-damage detected._"

"Sarge, up the voltage on that one battery there," Wash pointed to the large metal box, and Sarge fiddled with the dials for a few seconds, pumping power into the Freelancer AI. "Computer, Access Code W-E-0135- Foxtrot 15."

"_Access grant-t-ed. Beginning file transfer._" Sheila's systems began sending data into the computer that she was hooked up to. An icon of dozens of files appeared and spread themselves all across the screen. Some of them were outlined in bright red, indicating that the data had been corrupted by Sheila's damage.

"Caboose, make sure she doesn't die on me," Wash barked as he turned to investigate and secure the files into the new computer so that they weren't lost if Sheila deactivated. With a few tweaks of the necessary software, he copied the files and saved them to an external hard drive and started sorting through the files. He selected a few files from the mix, the Freelancers that were considered the Director's 'favorites,' his personal team that was kept under his jurisdiction at all times. "Okay, disconnect her from the computer and let her get some more power. Good work," he said encouragingly to the others as they started unhooking Sheila from the computer and Caboose tended to the AI.

Wash turned back to the files that were in front of him, and opened the one that he was looking for specifically. He clicked the file and saw the face that appeared on the screen, knowing that it was the correct one. A smiling, relaxed face surrounded by short blonde hair and with friendly blue eyes stared back at Wash from the past, and he felt his heart ache for his dear friend. Swallowing and getting a grip on his emotions, Wash scrolled down through the profile.

**NAME: **Agent North Dakota

**STATUS:** CLASSIFIED

**STATION:** CLASSIFIED

**ARTIFICIAL INTELLIGENCE UNIT:** Theta-1

This was nothing that Wash hadn't seen before, and he was sick of all the lies and deceit from Project: Freelancer. Opening a separate window, he typed in a wild guess of a password when it was asked for.

**PASSWORD**: A-L-L-I-S-O-N

Suddenly, the black sections of North's file were opened up, and Wash continued to read the Director's personal notes, his heart beating faster as he read through the notes.

"…_a dedicated agent, but his attention is divided with attempting to protect his twin, Agent South Dakota… is not emotionally hardened enough to be able to carry through more controversial assignments…discovered to have aided in the desertion of Agents Texas and York… cannot be turned over to the proper authorities without further inquiry by the Oversight Subcommittee…must be removed personally from other members of the Project…successfully relocated…reacted negatively to the extraction of the prime Theta unit…_"

Washington thought that he might be sick as he read through the Director's notes. How could he have subjected someone as good-natured as North to such horrible treatment? It had been common knowledge that North had helped York and Texas escape the _Mother of Invention_ when trying to retrieve the Alpha AI, but to have been subjected to such torture. Bearing the incredulity, Wash continued to read on and found his heart sinking as he continued with the words going down the page.

"…_flash clone successfully assimilated with Agent South Dakota…no inclination that she is aware of her brother's disappearance…began experimentation…successful reaction to repeated usage of the defibrillator in revival…sustained minor physical trauma to the upper torso…necessary biomechanical surgery required…mental testing with repeated simulations of teammate elimination provided unique results…placed in temporary hibernation until inquiries concluded by Oversight Subcommittee…implantation of duplicate AIs during hibernation reported a success…_"

"No," Wash breathed as he read the last few words of the Director's notes. What had happened to North was…beyond the description of 'terrible.' Even words like 'horrendous' and 'abominable' were not enough to describe what the Director had done to one of Wash's greatest friends.

Then, Wash thought some more about his interactions with South in the past few years, about when he responded to North's distress beacon when the first Meta had been running around and killing Freelancers.

"_I…I heard a scream…_"

Then came Delta's words. "_Agent South put her brother in a position to _be_ killed._"

The realization came crashing down on Wash in a torrent of pain, and he slumpd to the ground. Everything seemed to disappear around him as he was left to his own thoughts.

South had realized, through some turn of events that the North that she had been stationed with after leaving the _Mother of Invention_ was not her actual brother. Being determined to find out the truth, she put him out as bait for the Meta and used the opportunity to grab Theta so that she could access Freelancer's network and find where her brother was. She hadn't shot Wash in the back out of spite. South must have honestly thought that Wash had been sent by Freelancer to stop her from finding out the truth and rescuing her brother. Oh, if only Wash had known…

And the cold truth of the outcome had Wash collapsing into tears. He had killed South after her own battle with the Meta, thinking that it was payback for her shooting him in the back and having North killed. Instead, he had shot an innocent woman who was only looking for her real brother and the truth.

He really HAD been turned into just another machine operating for the Director and Project: Freelancer.

* * *

_And that's a wrap...for now. Oh, I forgot. Another chapter is after this. So, please review and move on to Chapter 7. Hope you guys like what you're seeing!_


	7. 7 Deal

_If you're reading this and you pressed that button next to the chapter that skips to the most recent chapter, go back one chapter. I posted two for keeping you guys waiting. After you read 6, come back to 7, read and enjoy!_

* * *

-_**Location: Vacant Apartment complex, UNSC Colony Sierra Nevada; Date: April 17**__**th**__**, 2555**_-

North looked over the mission schematics one more time, making sure that they were committed to memory before he tossed them into the small fire in the oil drum that sat in the corner of the blank room. "You guys getting everything together?" he asked the other Freelancers present with him in their temporary main base. "Wyoming, Wash, and South are already at the gala." He himself had been squeezed into a pitch black suit with a deep purple bowtie, crisp white dress shirt, and silvery-black tuxedo vest under his black suit jacket. It felt blazingly uncomfortable, and he wore Mark-VI battle armor most of the time.

"Almost there, North," York reassured him as he placed the buttons on his own navy suit jacket and helpfully zipped the back of Carolina's pretty aquamarine cocktail dress. Carolina fingered the decorated white and gold masque that she held in her hand and placed it over her eyes, letting York tie the white ribbon snugly around her head. She helped him attack his own bright green one and played with the feathers around his eyebrows in a rare display of childish fascination.

North stared down at his own purple masque, how the eye holes stared back at him emptily, ready to show his own blue eyes. The delicate red and blue swirls sewn into the edges accented his pale skin and blonde hair. Theta had preened slightly when North had chosen those colors for his custom masquerade accessory, liking the fact that North wanted to know that Theta was with him tonight. Much to both his and the AI's reluctance, North had to leave Theta behind on the Mother of Invention because he wasn't wearing his suit. This mission was only meant for recon, not actual combat if they could help it. Having this masque in Theta's colors was the closest thing that North had to his AI for tonight. Taking the pale gold ribbon in his hands, he tied the masque around his eyes and let himself become a totally different person.

Making sure that his knife was securely strapped to his calf and that his magnum was stuffed into the back of his pants, North checked his watch. "We're running late, now. Everyone's going to wonder where we are."

"Let's not keep them, then," Carolina agreed, making sure her dress and masque were set just right. She led the way out of the room and down the stairs of the abandoned apartment building and into the alley in front of the hotel where the masquerade was that they would be infiltrating. They were here to investigate a few suspects who might have been responsible for a break-in at a Freelancer facility last month.

Melding into the crowd, Carolina grabbed York's hand and got into the queue for the guards at the door to check their names. North slid in behind them, offered his fake credentials to the person holding the clipboard, and was admitted into the glimmering room of black and white marble, bright amber lighting, and people dancing in fine suits and elegant dresses all around him. A live orchestra was playing near the foot of a grand marble staircase, where the host of this charity masquerade would be making his grand entrance.

Carolina and York separated to mingle with the guests and gain intel while North spotted Wash sitting by his lonesome in a corner. Grabbing a water from a passing footman, North joined Wash in the padded armchair opposite him, a humored grin plastered on his face. "Like your costume," he murmured to Wash, taking a sip from his glass.

Washington gave a disgruntled snort. "I look ridiculous in _this_," he gestured with a hiss at the blonde wig, gaudy gold masque, and creamy white dress that he wore, with a high top to disguise the fact that the curves in his chest were so obviously fake.

"Nobody's gonna notice tonight," North dismissed his friend's concerns. "They're all gonna be in a race to contribute the most money for the children's hospital and taking advantage of all the fancy food, nobody's going to care that Wyoming messed up in trying to make you look like a girl. Where is he, anyway?"

"Out on the dance floor with South," Wash gestured with his head, leaning in close to whisper to his friend. "The rumor going around is that Myako just got a huge bonus added to his bank account from some sort of private intelligence firm. Maine's looking into it right now back on the ship."

North grinned. Myako sure sounded like a convincing suspect if he managed to sell any stolen information from the Project. This made their job easier, not having to find some way of getting him alone and interrogating him, then trying to find some place of dumping the body.

The orchestra stopped playing their Baroque piece, and everyone turned to stare at the grand staircase, where the host, Jonathan Myako, came down the stairs and halted at the banister. His long brown hair was plastered to his head and swept hack in some sort of semblance of a dashing curl, and he wore a long black tailcoat and white shirt and tie. Everyone clapped as the host made his entrance, then gave gasps, oohs, and aahs as Myako's escort came down the stairs elegantly. North and Wash both craned their necks to see.

A tall, tanned woman was coming down from the upper floor with one black-laced hand on the banister as she came down. Her raven black hair was spun into elegant braids and decorated with red and white roses that spiraled down the back of her black and red lace and chiffon gown that accented her proportioned curves. A black fan was held in one hand, with a spiral of tiny red roses pinned up to the black lace of the glove from the wrist to her forearm of the fan-wielding arm. Stunning grey eyes dipped shyly behind the elaborate silver and black masque as the eyes of the crowd fell on her, and she took Myako's offered hand gracefully. They walked out onto the dance floor together as the orchestra began playing a waltz, and they led the dance for the other couples.

"Target has entered the dance floor," North whispered into the earpiece covered by his hair. The message transmitted to the other Freelancers in the building, alerting them to the flamboyant appearance of their suspect.

"_I've got him in sight_," Carolina whispered through York's earpiece s they danced in the group surrounding the host and his escort.

"_You think the girl with him has something to do with this?_" South did the same with Wyoming's earpiece, and he saw the two for a moment on the edge of the waltzing group.

"_If she is, we need to remove her from the equation as quickly as possible,_" Carolina said determinedly. "_North, you're in charge of finding out what she knows when there's an opening. I don't care how you do it, but do it quickly._"

"What about me?" Wash whisper-whined as he was being left out.

"_Give Myako someone else to be interested in. He likes cats,_" Carolina reminded Wash, who nodded and signed off of the comm.. link.

The host and his companion danced for three more dances before moving to the edge and grabbing refreshments from two of the footmen carrying glasses and food. Grabbing Wash's hand, North strode purposefully across to the room and approached Myako and the mysterious woman.

"Mr. Myako, I would like to personally thank you for this generous charity event that you have set up," North greeted the brown-haired man smoothly. "It truly is a noble cause that you are advocating for."

"Thank you," Myako replied, startled by the boldness of this stranger. And, you might be…" he trailed off in confusion.

"Richard Carmichael," North gave his false name, offering his hand and having it shaken. "And this is my date, Madeline Washington." Wash gave an awkward curtsy at his introduction while Myako did nothing to hide his appraising glance of 'Madeline.'

"It is very nice to meet both of you. Mr. Carmichael, I would like to thank you for your generous donation to this children's hospital." The funds for the 'donation' were obviously fake, and had only been used to place a virus in the system so that Freelancer could hack into Jonathan Myako's savings account and see where he was getting the money.

"I'm hopeful that it can help in some manner," North replied. "May I ask who your escort for this evening is?"

Before the dark-haired woman could respond, Myako butted in rudely. "This is Lydia, a friend," he answered shortly. Lydia looked like she might protest, thought better of it, and curtsied to North, her head sinking low in a bow.

"It is nice to meet you," North said kindly to the other woman, who whispered something along the lines of 'thank you,' her grey eyes cast down at the floor. North redirected his attention to Jonathan reluctantly. "Mr. Myako, I have heard that you are into showing pedigree cats."

"Indeed I am," Myako answered enthusiastically. "My Russian Blue has won 'Best in Show' for many different national, international, and intercolony show competitions. The winnings are where I get most of the money to start these charity projects of mine."

"Really?" Washington asked in his girliest voice, surprisingly convincing. "I have judged some of these shows myself as well as shown my own cat, and I find that it is hard to breed the Russian Blues to the peak of perfection. Tell me, what is your secret?"

Myako was hooked at the show of interest from another cat lover. He and Wash completely ignored their dates (aside from Myako grabbing his red wine glass from Lydia) and made their way to a table to talk, leaving North and Lydia by themselves. The orchestra returned from their break and began playing a slow minuet.

"May I have this dance?" North held out his hand to Myako's abandoned date. She snapped her fan closed, hooked it to her dress, and took his offered hand with her smaller one with a small smile. They made their way to the edge of the dancing couples, where North could see York and Wyoming nearby in case of trouble.

"I appreciate your appearance here tonight, Mr. Carmichael," Lydia said quietly as they danced to the slow song. She brought her mouth up hear his ear and whispered, "However, you are intruding on my territory."

North almost froze, but kept up dancing to make it look like he wasn't startled by the words of the masked woman dancing with him. "I don't know what you mean," he responded in just as quiet of a whisper, hoping that the others were hearing this conversation.

"I know that you are no contributor to this sham of a charity," Lydia responded, pulling herself close to North as they danced. "You're not the only one working with an agenda here. Why exactly are you targeting Myako?"

The alarm bells in North's head started going off. No person would call their date by their last name unless there was some sort of trouble going on between them…or they were working undercover as well.

"I'm looking for something that he's stolen of mine," North whispered cryptically, trying to draw this woman's attention away from the wrong areas. She seemed to be two steps ahead of him, though.

"You mean that missing data that he profited off of?" 'Lydia' replied, doing an elegant twirl around North's upraised hand. "He doesn't have it anymore."

"You don't know that for sure-" North tried to argue, but something sharp was pointed at the small of his back as they continued to dance. The very tip of a knife sat hidden in 'Lydia's' hand, which she had pressed to his kidney.

"Your ear bug is disconnected from the rest of your team, so you should cooperate with me," the woman threatened him as they spun slowly on the spot. "I'm dealing with Myako, so lay off."

"Can't do that," North hissed through gritted teeth, but 'Lydia' flashed a toothy grin.

"How about a compromise, then?" she whispered, leaning in close. "I know where he's sent the information off to. I point you in the right direction, and you leave Myako to me. Deal?"

North glanced over at the corner where Myako was trying to get a little too close and personal with Wash, who was on the very edges of his seat in an awkward attempt to get free. They had a mission to complete, and Myako was one of the suspects…but if the information was gone already, then any sort of lead was better than no lead. Plus, he needed the kidney.

"…Fine," North hissed out, and the dagger at his back retracted itself. They finished off the dance with a flourish. "Now, where's that information going to?"

"Why don't you enjoy the party a little more before you leave?" 'Lydia' suggested, taking a step back. "I think I know where to find you later, and I'll give you the information, then. It's not like you're going to be able to do anything about it tonight, anyways." She opened her fan again and turned to leave, ready to go back up the marble staircase to freshen up. "Myako's too easily protected, so there's no way you're going to be able to snatch him from a room full of people and bodyguards. I'll come by later tomorrow and give you the information."

"Who are you, really?" North asked quietly, grabbing her wrist as she made to leave. The grey eyes behind the mask shone brilliantly in the candle light.

"I don't know what you mean, Mr. Carmichael," 'Lydia' responded innocently, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. "I'm just a simple businesswoman." With a flutter of lace and chiffon, she glided up the staircase without a look backwards, her black braids curling around her bared spine as she went.

Wyoming, South, and Carolina all made their way over to North as soon as he had made his way to a quiet area of the room. "We lost contact for a few minutes," Carolina hissed urgently. "What were you able to find out from her?"

North thought for a moment about conveying his entire conversation to his teammates, but then thought better of it. If 'Lydia' knew that he was an agent working in her 'territory', then she was very likely to know if he told his teammates about their conversation and wouldn't give them the information that he needed.

"She didn't have anything to say, really," North shrugged finally. "But I did get a good look around as I was waiting to talk to her. There are too many guards and people around to sneak Myako out of here without someone finding out about what we're doing. We'll have to wait until tomorrow, when there's less security around." With a grumble, the others agreed to stay for a while longer, then make their way back to the apartment and wait until the next day to make a plan.

* * *

-_**The next morning**_-

Carolina gave a snarl and tossed away the newspaper away from her angrily as soon as he had read the headline. Everyone crowded around to stare at the gigantic lettering across the front page.

**CHARITY HOST FOUND DEAD IN HOME, NATURAL CAUSES TO BLAME**

* * *

_Hahaha! I love surprises! _

_Anyways, I appreciate all you people wanting to read this story. If you could give me a few reviews to show me how i'm doing, I'd greatly appreciate it. Thanks so much for all your support!_


End file.
